Warped Reality
by Running For Anothers Dream
Summary: He's there, and the pills don't make him vanish. Not like they do the others - the woman with white hair and blue eyes, the man in flowing robes with gilded gems, the monsters that haunt him everywhere. Akefia claims that he's real. Malik doesn't believe him.


A/N: This one was a lot of fun to write, and I adore the idea behind it. A gold star to anyone who can figure it out! c:

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1.

Arms wrapped around Malik from behind and he froze, hands hovering over the keyboard. A large hand, much larger than his own, settled on his chest. A second one on his stomach, fingers dipping under the hem of his shirt.

"No," whispered Malik, closing his eyes. His throat felt tight, breaths suddenly coming in harsh gasps.

_One_, he counted, _two. Three. Four. Five._

The hands didn't leave. They seldom left anymore, no matter how much Malik counted or how many pills that he took. The one on his stomach moved, until an ice-like palm pressed against bare skin.

"Yes," whispered Akefia, and grinning lips pressed against the side of Malik's throat.

2.

Malik opened his eyes, and he was there. Standing in the corner of the room, with his arms crossed over his chest and his face drawn into a tight, angry sort of look. The white hair stands out in the darkness.

White, white, white, and Malik doesn't understand why there's so much white in his bedroom. It's on his walls now, creeping towards him, surrounding him, and then a heavy weight settles on his chest and two frozen hands rest on either shoulder.

"Go away," hisses Malik, and even when his eyes are closed, he can still see that God awful white.

Akefia leans closer, until strands of hair are brushing against Malik's face. Then lips, pressing against his own. "I don't want too."

3.

"Stop it," growls Malik, and it is the first time that he's truly gotten angry at the not-there-man beside him.

The hands don't quit moving, ever lower, until there's a heavy pressure between his legs and a chest pressed against his own back. Malik bites down hard on his lower lip, and has to remind himself that there's no reason to count.

Akefia doesn't vanish when Malik counts, not like the other hallucinations.

Then again, Akefia doesn't vanish when Malik looks at him either, and he speaks more than anything else that has ever crept into his mind.

"Try and make me," counters Akefia, fingers curling against the rough fabric of Malik's jeans.

All that Malik can do is whine, low in his throat, and lean against the body that shouldn't be there.

4.

Shaking hands grasp at the side of the toilet, the porcelain like ice in Malik's hands. He smacks his chapped lips together, and all he can taste is the his own, acrid vomit.

"Why are you still here?" he questions, voice hoarse and even those few words making his throat burn and ache.

Maybe he really shouldn't have taken so many pills at once. Malik is fairly certain, even through the heavy fog that has settled on his mind, that he can taste blood.

The bronze hands release their hold on Malik's hair, and one moves to rest on the side of the young boys face. It feels strangely warm today.

"Because I'm real," answers Akefia, insistantly.

His only answer is Malik throwing his head forward, vomiting up another mouthful of stomach bile and blood.

5.

Malik is lost, even though he has not left his bed. Golden sand has filled his room, encasing the floor and devouring the walls and the few meager pieces of furniture in his possession. It is hot, like the sun is beating down against him, even though he knows for a fact that the air conditioner is on.

If he had any pills left, then he would take them.

He doesn't though, and can only pull the sheets higher up around him.

_One, he thinks, two. Three. Four. Five._

The counting doesn't make this go away either though. Malik blinks, and Akefia is standing before him, wearing that strange red robe and holding out one hand.

"You need to trust me," says the older man, and Malik knows for a fact that he isn't there either. Just as fake as the desert that has encased his apartment bedroom.

At least, he thinks that he knows.

Shaking his head, Malik withdraws deeper into his blankets. "Just leave me alone!"

6.

Lips press against his jaw. Leave a trail of kisses down the side of his neck, onto his throat. Malik can't help but tilt his head back, offering up more of the tender flesh and giving a low mewl when teeth nip at his tanned skin, doing their best to draw blood.

A low moan, when they succeed.

Akefia's tongue darts across Malik's throat, and it feels far too real to just be in his mind. The older man moves back up, capturing Malik's lips in his own.

All he can taste is blood and he kisses back, has to kiss back, because this feels right. It feels like it's happened before, many, many times, but that can't be true. It isn't true.

Is it?

Is it?

Akefia breaks the kiss, but just barely. When he speaks, his words ghost across Malik's skin. "We're running out of time."

Those words break the spell and Malik comes to his senses, reaching up and shoving at Akefia's chest. Tries his best to be defiant, and ignore the feeling that settles in his chest. "Then hurry up and leave!"

7.

Malik's shirt is on the floor, and he doesn't quite know how it got there. Just that he's standing in his room and Akefia is behind him, and have his walls always been made out of mirrors?

He doesn't think they have been, but maybe he's wrong. He seems to be wrong about a lot of things, lately.

"Do you see those?" questions Akefia, and there's something fierce in his voice. Something angry and mad and Malik can't help but try to pull away. Strong arms keep him standing in place though, and the mirrors that surround him keep him from looking away.

Malik's body is nothing but a patchwork of raised flesh. Scars litter his skin, tracing over his arms and his chest and his back, dear Lord, just look at his back!

"What happened to me?" he breaths, reaching up to touch one long, thin line with a trembling hand.

Akefia does nothing but frown.

8.

This time, when his shirt hits the floor, Malik knows why it's there. His pants follow next and then his boxers, and he doesn't know when Akefia's cloak joined them, but it's off too.

"I still don't understand," says Malik, but he reaches out with one hand all the same, letting it rest on Akefia's bare chest. He doesn't know why his hand is shaking, but tries not to question it or anything else right then.

Akefia is warm against him. Steady and strong and very much there, in a way that nothing has been in a long time. He pulls Malik close, lets one hand trail over the scars on his back and down, lower, until it is resting on Malik's ass.

Malik gives a small yelp, hides his face in the crook of Akefia's neck.

"You don't need to understand," insists Akefia. "You just need to trust me."

9.

"Do you promise?" Malik asks, turning hopeful eyes onto the man before him. Still doesn't know if Akefia is real or not, honestly cannot tell, but doesn't see that there's much reason not to listen.

It isn't like he has much going for him, after all. It isn't like he's going to be missed.

Akefia lets the blade shift from hand to hand, and tilts his head to the side. White hair falls into his face, but he is smiling, grinning, happy like Malik has never seen him and the expression is so very fitting on the older man.

"I promise," says Akefia - and then he drives the blade of the knife deep into Malik's gut.

The young boys scream echoes through the apartment. No one hears it. If they do, no one cares enough to call the police.

10.

Malik wakes up with a start, throat tight and breaths heavy. A large hand presses against his shoulder, pushing him back down onto the thin, uncomfortable mattress.

"Lay down."

The voice is familiar. Very familiar, and when his world quits spinning Malik is met with the sight of blue eyes and white hair and bronze skin.

"Akefia?" he questions, and why is his voice so raspy?

The thief, and yes, that's what he is, recalls Malik, a thief and a good one at that, he lets his hand shift from Malik's shoulder to his cheek. "I didn't think you were going to bother dragging your ass back here."

Malik remembers a lot of things then. It comes in flashes and colors and sounds, and he remembers Akefia and he remembers Egypt and he remembers Kul Elna.

Doesn't know how he ever forgot any of it, or why.

"Back where?" asks Malik, confused. "Did I go somewhere?"

Akefia's only answer is to laugh and draw Malik close, up against his chest. And that's okay, decides Malik. He doesn't really need to know where he went at all.

He's home now, after all, in the ruins of Kul Elna with his partner at his side.


End file.
